The Best Medicine
by Bladedfan
Summary: They say love is the best medicine. But what constitutes love, anyway? Is it hot soup and soft tissues, or something... more?


**Legal Stuff:** _This story is intended to express one fan's genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It was written for fun and not at all for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it._

**A/N: **_This one was written with a friend in mind who I thought could use a bit of comfort. And while it might not cure all that ails, I hope this little ficlet will help her feel a little better, at least._

**The Best Medicine**

Some people piss and moan when they're sick. I should know. I'm one if them. I bitch and complain and milk it for all it's worth. And the target of said bitching is usually Aya. He puts up with it pretty well though. By which I mean he doesn't kill me outright. Not even that one time I snuck into his room because I was "cold."

Really it was a nightmare from the cold _medicine_. I hate that crap… it drudges things up while you're asleep, makes them real as they were when they happened, and then… well, yeah, I was shook up and whiney as hell. And Aya…? He got up, went downstairs and made me a bowl of soup.

I guess everybody needs that sometimes, when they're sick. Not soup necessarily. Just somebody who gives a shit, you know? Who knows what you need and cares enough to get it for you. For me it was something warm, and quiet company. For Aya… hm… not a clue. He's never been sick before, that I've noticed. And I make it my business to watch the guy.

The guy who still hasn't come down to wash the dishes when it's his night to. The guy who's got me, arguably the laziest sonuvabitch in this house, up to his elbows in soapy water. The same guy who's been up in the damn shower for over an hour, using up all the hot water so I can't get his dishes freaking clean. Yeah, that guy.

A soap bubble pops and I look down at pruney fingers in massive annoyance. So I think, _"That's it. If the jackass can't make it possible to do something nice for him, then screw it."_ I drop the dish I was cleaning back into the soapy murk and head upstairs to haul his unappreciative ass bodily out of the shower.

Pounding at the door gets no answer, so I try the knob. It turns easily under my palm, which is… weird. Aya always locks the door. Aya, who is currently glaring at me through a thick wall of steam. I'm surprised he hasn't suffocated yet, and start to say, "What the hell?" but it hits me before I can even finish. Aya and his natural remedies.

"Ah, shit. You're sick, aren't you?"

If possible, the glare gets even surlier, but he answers, words muffled with congestion.

"I caught Ken's cold."

Yup. I figured. Good old Ken-Ken was sick as a dog all last week. Whiney as fuck, too. He almost put me to shame. Almost. Thankfully he only ever whines at Omi and steers clear of Aya and me. Though, apparently, not clear enough. I look up to see Aya stifle a sneeze with _the_ most annoyed look in the whole damn world.

"Sneezing's for the weak, huh?"

He glares some more, but doesn't protest as I haul him (yes, bodily) off the toilet lid and drag him out into the hall. Which is freezing, by the way, after all that goddamn steam. I consider it a moment, then shove him back in, grumbling at him to turn off the shower while I go to my room to get a robe.

Why my room? Because Aya doesn't own a robe, and I will not touch one of those orange turtlenecks with a ten foot pole. It might infect my fashion sense, which might affect my love life, and then… nah. Nothing could ever look _that_ bad on me. But still, what kind of person doesn't own a robe?

I find Aya back out in the hall, shivering because he's too stubborn to wait in the bathroom-turned-sauna. Colds are for mortals, I guess, and Aya believes himself anything but. Ass. He makes my job so much harder sometimes.

"I'm not wearing that," he complains, indicating the robe in my hands. "Don't know where it's been."

I don't quite roll my eyes, but the sentiment is there as I force him into the plush red material. Also when I catch him by the collar as he tries to skulk off to his own room and drag him back down the hall and then the stairs. And when I shove him unceremoniously onto the couch? Yep, still there. What can I say, I'm a sentimental guy.

"Stay," I order as I switch on the tv and deposit the remote in his hands.

"I'm not a dog..." he grumbles back.

"No, you're not. Dogs do what they're told. You're worse. Like some bitchy-ass cat. Now stay while I fix you something for dinner."

He gives me a look that says he doesn't want to die just yet and I growl, "Watch your history channel or something, grandpa," before stalking off. I wait a minute at the kitchen doorway and listen for the telltale, bored as hell sounding narrator voice, and sure enough, I hear it. He actually listened. Damn. Must be sicker than I thought.

A scan around the kitchen leaves me staring at the pile of dishes in the sink. Crap. There's not too many things I can cook well, but most of them are of the solid food variety. Not the best thing for a sore throat. Except maybe pancakes. He could eat those… if the box in the pantry wasn't empty. I resolve to kick Ken's ass later as I put it back, knowing full well it was probably me that finished the box in the first place. But, logically, what else can I do? I can't kick my own ass, and Aya is sick. And Omi… Omi can be scary when he wants to be. Like when he finds empty pancake boxes in the cupboard. Which has me taking out the box again and throwing it in the trash. But Ken? His ass is still mine. For getting Aya sick, if nothing else.

A muffled sneeze comes from the other room, and I poke my head around the corner to check it out. The guilty party looks up, still sick, still annoyed.

"If you keep doing that, your brain's gonna leak out of your ears," I point out matter-of-factly.

He narrows his eyes skeptically, but catches the roll of paper towels I toss him. Because we're guys, and guys don't keep a supply of boxed tissues lying around. And, skeptical or not, the brains thing is something moms always say, so it's gotta be some kind of true. I take Aya blowing his nose as agreement while I return to the task at hand.

There's nothing in the fridge so I find myself rummaging through the pantry again. Pulling out yet another box, I shrug, guessing it'll have to do. I'm not sure yet if success tastes good, but if it doesn't, I'm sure Aya can (and will) bitch about it later. Lord knows he's never too sick for that.

Leaving the pot on the stove to boil, I move back into the living room. Because a pot never boils if you watch it. It doesn't set your house on fire, either, but moms never mention that part for some reason. We have a fire extinguisher though, so I'm not too worried.

"If you set the house on fire…" Aya starts.

"Oh, shut up. And what the hell are you watching, anyway? Some shit about mummies again?"

"It's a documentary on Egypt," he scowls defensively. "It's-"

"Yeah, yeah," I cut him off. "Interesting."

Then I duck back into the kitchen before he can throw the roll of paper towels at me. Or the remote. Or the lamp. Or… any number of things Aya can turn into a lethal weapon. Now, a documentary on _that_ would be my idea of interesting.

By the time I get back to it the contents of the pot are at a rolling boil. So I stir, and ignore Aya's disgruntled, "What the fuck is that smell?" Because I know the stuffy bastard can't really smell anything right now. And stirring a pot is a pretty zen activity. Methodical. Soothing, even. And about the best Aya's going to get out of me if there aren't pancakes or actual fire involved.

The concoction doesn't look like much so I pour it in a bowl for presentation's sake. Then I walk over to the fridge and grab an ice tray out of the freezer. Too impatient to wait for the stuff to cool I dump about half the tray in there, then stir some more with the spoon. My pot gets added to Mt. Dishmore as an afterthought. A good cook cleans up after himself, right?

I stick a finger in the bowl to have a taste of Aya's supper. Actually, it's not half bad. A little watery from the ice, but still edible. I think so, anyway. My partner… not so much. He looks at the bowl like it might be his last meal. And not in a good and grateful sort of way, either.

"Just eat it."

I love the way he looks at the bowl I deposit in his lap with something resembling mild panic. Hell, if I were him getting served a dinner made by me, I'd probably do the same.

"It isn't bad," I offer. "I tried it first."

He looks up at me dubiously. "What _is_ it?"

"Pudding soup."

"Pudding… soup…"

I hand him a spoon and sit down before he can shove the bowl away.

"Pudding soup," he repeats again.

Here it comes. _The Rant_. The why-can't-you-do-this, that and that-too rant. Aya trademarked.

"What flavor?"

Huh? Glancing over I see the runny pudding dripping from his spoon, and it's so hard not to laugh.

"Banana," I answer with a smirk. "Chocolate was too normal for you."

"Huh…" he says.

Not a whole lot of confidence in that kind of answer, but he tries it anyway. A full minute goes by before he makes another sound. And, I shit thee not, it isn't a complaint or even a gag once he does.

"Not bad," he says as he takes another sip, eyes fixed back on the tv.

An hour later, with the contents of the bowl gone and Aya dozing next to me – wrapped up like a burrito in my robe; where's a camera when you need one? – I reach for the remote. He grumbles in his sleep and turns the other way, and I can't help but think it's on purpose. Forcing me to watch some documentary even though he's asleep. Because he knows I won't just leave.

A commercial comes on then, and there's a happy family. Then a sick kid, soft tissues, warm soup. "Made with Love," the voice-over says. So I glance at the empty bowl again, and then at Aya.

Some people piss and moan when they're sick, but not him. Some people need medicine and tissues that aren't paper towels. Some people need soup that isn't watered-down, cold pudding. Some people? They can kiss my ass.

The documentary comes back and Aya snores lightly. Taking in him and the empty bowl, I can't help but think the voice-over might have had a point. Some of the very best things are made with love. 'Cause when you're sick, that's all you really want, right? Something that shows you someone cares about you feeling like shit, and wants to make you feel better. And isn't that really the best medicine?

I chuckle under my breath. Pudding soup. Who knew?

**-End-**

**A/N: **_To my dear friend Tex-chan, I send pudding soup, love, and lots and lots of hugs. :)_

_It's been a while, but as always, comments, questions and constructive criticism are not only welcome, but so very appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!_


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